


there will be light

by statusquo_ergo



Series: it's not pain, it's just uncertainty [1]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Pre-Slash, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 02:26:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10295432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statusquo_ergo/pseuds/statusquo_ergo
Summary: Harvey, a brand new associate at Pearson Hardman, is sick of all this pro-bono crap and definitely could've done without nearly being run over by that punk kid on his bicycle. At least he'll get a free lunch out of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> I'd love you forever if you could write something with associate Harvey meeting Mike? Or just a younger Harvey meeting younger Mike. Thank you!

_2003_

“Hey! Watch it!”

“Shit—!”

Harvey steps back abruptly, his arm flailing to catch his balance as the heel of his still new-ish Brooks Brothers wingtip hits the curb. Because he can’t catch a goddamn break today, the Thompson file flies out of his hand, scattering across the sidewalk, and Jessica is _going_ to kill him.

“God dammit, kid,” Harvey seethes, brushing flecks of mud from his coat with moderate success. “This cost more than you make in a year!”

The kid, a scrawny little blond who can’t possibly be more than twenty-four years old, jumps off his bike and stoops to gather Harvey’s fallen papers; shit, he’ll get them all out of order and Harvey’s only been on this case for two days but he’s already sick of it.

“Sorry,” the kid says, not particularly sounding it. “That asshole totally cut me off. Fuckin’ SUVs.”

“Life lesson number one, alright,” Harvey snaps as he grabs the papers back, “take responsibility for your own goddamn mistakes.”

The kid smirks, adjusting the cheap messenger bag slung across his chest, and Harvey sort of wants to punch him.

“I’ll try to remember that,” he says. “But you know, next time, you might wanna try not ramming that rod so far up your ass.”

“Listen, you little shit—”

The kid raises his hands defensively, and Harvey’s so startled by the audacity that he actually stops speaking.

“Sorry, man,” he repeats, sounding at least marginally sincere. “Sorry. Can I…make it up to you? Buy you a cup of coffee or something?”

Harvey stares at him; he sounds like he’s reciting a line from every generic rom com ever made. There’s absolutely no reason to take him up on the offer. Harvey really does need to get back to the office, and this case really is driving him up the wall; it’s shaping up to be another long night, the fourth in a row, and Harvey’s had it up to here with this pro bono crap, but Jessica must have decided that he has a special touch for it or something because it’s all she’s given him of late and he’s having a hard time believing it’s just some rite of passage for new associates.

The point is, he should decline.

“Make it a sandwich,” he retorts instead. The kid raises his eyebrows and looks to be fighting a smile; he’s an obnoxious smartass, that’s for sure, but there’s something endearing about him, something inherently honest.

Harvey’s life is woefully bereft of honesty.

“Aye aye,” the kid salutes. “Does his honor prefer Au Bon Pain or Panera?”

Harvey narrows his eyes as the kid picks up his bike and they begin to walk.

“I look like a judge to you?” he snipes, and the kid scoffs.

“Not likely. I just meant, you know.” He gestures toward the file in Harvey’s hands. “That’ll always be the dream, right?”

“What?”

The kid looks at him like he’s a bit slow. “You’re a lawyer. Lemme guess; corporate? Although I guess in that case your billables are probably high enough to make up for the lack of prestige.”

Harvey frowns. “Do I know you?”

“Doubt it.” The kid sticks out his hand. “Mike Ross.”

“Harvey Specter,” Harvey replies uncertainly, hesitating before he accepts the shake. “And I’m more of a Le Pain Quotidien man.”

“Figures,” says Mike Ross, and Harvey isn’t quite sure what to make of that.

—

Seated in a corner as isolated as two people can get in a restaurant that tries to be known for its open-air ambiance, Harvey rests his arms on the table, folds his hands together, and puts on his smuggest expression. Mike doesn’t seem intimidated so much as amused, which is interesting. (The kid’s arrogance should be sending him up the wall, why isn’t it driving him insane?) Different.

(Different.)

“So let’s stop screwing around,” Harvey says. “How’d you know I’m a corporate lawyer?”

It feels like a callout moment, a perfect opportunity for Mike to admit that he’s a creepy stalker or a shitty private eye. He does neither, merely gesturing under the table to Harvey’s briefcase.

“Your case?” he prompts. “Moore Inc. v. Thompson? The lawyer part’s kind of obvious.”

Alright, that’s true.

“And corporate?” he asks, and now Mike looks a little—embarrassed?

“Some shady company trying to throw its partners under the bus by splitting up their federal tax returns, what else is it gonna be,” he says, looking up in a way that would come off coquettish if he wasn’t fidgeting so much. Harvey leans back, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for Mike to meet his gaze.

“And how the hell did you figure that out?” he asks. Mike couldn’t have seen more than the first page of the file, maybe the first two for a few seconds each, tops.

“I’m a fast reader?” Mike shrugs. “Anyway it’s basically the same as United Dominion Industries v. Unites States, isn’t it? What’s taking you so long?”

“I’d be finished with it if I was representing Moore Inc.,” he retorts before Mike’s words fully register in context and he cocks his head. “How do you know about UDI?”

Grinning a little too excitedly for the subject matter at hand, Mike rocks in his seat like he’s been waiting for the question. “It’s the Supreme Court, man,” he says. “Gotta keep up with the new norms.”

Harvey still isn’t ready to completely rule out the creepy stalker angle, but then the waiter shows up with his chicken curry salad tartine and refills Mike’s empty water glass and he’s not sure why, but it’s starting to feel less likely.

“Aren’t you gonna eat something?” he asks, gesturing to Mike’s drink, but Mike only rolls his eyes.

“I’ve got peanut butter at home.”

Huh.

The seconds tick by in stilted silence as Harvey takes smaller bites than he normally would and Mike looks out the window to his right.

This isn’t as satisfying as Harvey had expected.

“So,” he says halfway through the meal. “What would you do?”

Mike’s head snaps around as though it’s spring-loaded, his eyes wider than before. “What—what, about your case?”

“Yeah,” Harvey affirms as though it’s no big deal, “if you were in my shoes, how would you handle it? What’s your argument?”

Mike looks down at the table and Harvey just knows the brat wants to make some kind of shoe pun. Wisely, he refrains from venturing down that route, his tone only a little hesitant as he tries to convey confidence in his proposal.

“The only way to get around the ruling is to prove—or convince opposing counsel, anyway, that your client isn’t technically affiliated with Moore. Since, you know, the Court only said that affiliated corporations need to file consolidated returns.”

It’s so obvious. So blindingly, painfully, ridiculously obvious.

Harvey can’t believe he hasn’t thought of it already.

It’s perfect.

Mike shrugs.

“I mean, you’d probably have to bullshit them about just how affiliated your client is with the parent company, I’m guessing, but you went to law school, you’ve gotta be used to that kind of thing, right?”

Harvey grins. He likes the sound of that; the guys from Moore Inc. are so used to getting their way that they’ll probably be easy to snow with a little fancy footwork. This’ll be fun.

“I’ll think about it,” he concedes. Then, because this feels like a rare sort of moment, he takes another bite of his tartine and slides his business card across the table. “Gimme a call when you graduate law school. I’ll be a partner by then, probably looking for an associate of my own.”

Mike smiles cynically as he shoves the card into his back pocket. “Thanks, Harvey,” he says, “but don’t hold your breath.”

Harvey shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure the world could use a lawyer like you.”

Drumming his fingers on the table, Mike looks out the window again as his smile softens.

“Thanks, Harvey.”

Narrowing his eyes critically, Harvey nods and stands to pull his coat back on, reaching under the table for his briefcase.

“Thanks for the food,” he says, straightening his collar. “Afternoon, Mike.”

Walking out the front door, he hopes Mike has the good sense to eat the rest of the tartine.

That kid’s going places.

—

_Eight Years Later_

“What are you looking for?”

Harvey smiles to himself.

“Another me.”

Send in the next offender.

**Author's Note:**

> [This](http://gq-images.s3.amazonaws.com/e6/c5/270d488c.jpg) is Harvey’s coat (from Louis Vuitton’s Fall 2003 Collection, approximately $800).
> 
> [This](https://www.law.cornell.edu/supct/html/00-157.ZS.html) is the case Mike cites (and [here](http://caselaw.findlaw.com/summary/opinion/us-supreme-court/2001/06/04/103691.html) is a brief summary of the final ruling).
> 
> Also Harvey is being _ridiculously_ arrogant when he says he’ll be partner by the time Mike graduates law school; Harvey began as an associate at Pearson Hardman in 2003 and the partner track takes generally between six and eleven years, depending on the firm, whereas law school takes three, and if he assumes Mike is already a first-year, or will be shortly, he’s basically saying he’ll be on a partner very-fast-track by the end of the week. (Canonically, Harvey took four years to become a junior partner, so either the _Suits_ timeline is a mess or Harvey is the beneficiary of some extreme favoritism. I think probably both.)
> 
> Title from "Light" from _Next to Normal_ (2008).


End file.
